In The Skeleton Key (another quick plug there - I built the website, you know), the central character played by Kate Hudson encounters the world of hoodoo, a folk magic originating from America's deep South.

The components of hoodoo spells, like many folk magics, are everyday items given a 'mystical' power by their application. For example, brick dust laid out in a line over a threshold will stop those who mean you harm from entering your house.

The film doesn't delve too deeply into the mechanics of the practice - but one of the central themes plays with the psychology behind the 'magic', namely that it only works if you believe.

Cue trailer clips of a terrified-looking Kate Hudson, mascara down her cheeks and wailing "I don't believe, I DON'T BELIEVE". Of course, we can tell by now that she's gone out of her mind with fear, and she's clearly trying a little too hard to convince herself.

I won't give any more of the plot away - it's not a bad little film, though they could have played more with the psychology involved - but well, that's just not fashionable these days is it?

It seems everywhere you turn at the moment, it's all about belief, and I'm getting increasingly bothered by it all. We have devout member of the Catholic sect Opus Dei in the cabinet; arguments rage as to whether the Koran espouses killing non-muslims; we have studies into the medicinal effectiveness of prayer; the Dalia Lama is invited to talk to the Society for Neuroscience about meditation.

The world has gone fucking nuts, and I want out. Why is there not a promised land for non-believers? I suppose there's Iceland - pretty secular there, apart from the belief in pixies, but the beer is too expensive. I was brought up in a secular environment, RE courses were of the pick'n'mix, multi-faith variety, and God was only ever mentioned if I was playing up in the supermarket. These days I can't read a paper or watch the telly without some nutjob prattling on about their belief in some invisible force written about by some deranged cleric in the dark ages, and how if you don't believe in it too, you're in for trouble.

Well, boo-hoo pal, God is fake, and when you die, you just rot in the ground. Onward, evangelical atheist soldiers!.

posted at 3:19 PM •

Really truthful and honest piece over at news.bbc:
The discomfort of strangers

Nice comment on the page too by Bijal of Bozoduck - rather cute he is too - keep the beard, dude. (God, haven't done a blog link for ages - must do more).

posted at 1:21 PM •

Switched the telly on first thing this morning while tucking into my breakfast of scrambled eggs (runny, with Cayenne Pepper).  Channel Four showing Big Brother's Little Brother – featuring Kathy Burke and the latest Big Brother evictee, 'Science'.

Can't quite work out what our Kathy was doing on the sofa with Dermot, but I'm guessing she's got sucked into the awful vaccum of the reality tv mainstay this year.  Not in the slightest bit interested in it myself this year, what with all the real reality going on in the real world; the fact that all the 'contestants' are absolutely vomit-inducing (though that never stopped me before); oh, and the fact that I'm hooked on America's Next Top Model (vaguely pretty vacuous girls being bitches to each other and having their dreams crushed by a panel of has-beens – gay kryptonite).

Anyway – Kathy gets to ask 'Science' (BB persona: frizzy-haired nincompoop) one question – "What advice would you give to Derek? (BB persona: pompous anachronistic arse)"

Young 'Science' thinks hard for about ten seconds and replies: "Aahd joost tell 'im t' keep i' real".

Cue Kathy grinning like a demented ewe, phone-in comment-a-thon and end titles.

Keep it real.

What the fuck does this actually mean anyway?  Is this the first sign of losing it and becoming a crusty old fart, when you notice that the idioms of the young people don't really mean a goddamn thing?  And what's with that hair anyway – go and have a haircut, scruffy lout.

Keep it real - presumably in the case of Derek, this means carry on acting like a dusty old malteser stuck at the bottom of Thatcher's second-best handbag.

I'm sticking to America's Next Top Model - not a shred of reality to be found anywhere on that show.

posted at 10:15 AM •

I had a clever idea for a post about the man shot dead by plainclothes Policemen on Friday.

I've been in two minds about it - and I thought the best way to present that would be to do a single post split into two contradictory opinions.

When I first heard the news I was shocked at the lethal force used, but like many other people I rationalised that initial reaction, based on the fact that the Police were doing their duty and protecting the public.

Difficult times and difficult measures. Five round unloaded into the man's head, preventing him from detonating a suspected bomb.

The more I've thought about it though, the more I'm absolutely disgusted - and I didn't think I would be. I'm not disgusted by the use of force, I'm disgusted that that force is in the hands of an agency who is clearly not qualified to bear it.

Everything in this case indicates a spectacular intelligence bungle. A total and utter intelligence fuck-up actually - and now I'm even more scared than I was a week ago.

Now I don't just have to worry about lunatic suicide bombers, I have to also worry about educationally subnormal thugs wielding semi-automatic guns who might think my rucksack contains a bomb rather than my trusty Powerbook and blow my fucking brains out.

What was already a tense and troubled situation just got a whole lot worse.

posted at 11:11 AM •

Lovely jihad we're having.

Tube journeys are so much more exciting these days. The train pulls into the platform - no, not that carriage, too ethnically diverse. Next carriage - hmm, atheist, atheist, christian, atheist, new-age, jew, christian - yeah, that one will do. Next stop - oop, rucksack - you imagine yourself pinning him to the ground as he tries to reach his detonator. You devise a number of ways to incapacitate him, you size up your fellow passengers, which ones will help out, which ones will make a good human shield if worst comes to the worst.

It wouldn't be so bad, if only they could get their bombs to work. Bring it on bitches, I could do with some good stuff for the blog and a week or two off work. I could do with the hits from news.bbc - 'Blogger Thwarts Suicide Bomber'.

Sweet.

posted at 10:59 AM •

Chatting with my sister last night about diets. She's back on Weight Watchers after piling on the pounds with her last pregnancy. Meanwhile, I struggle to maintain a healthy BMI of 21 points. Last year I dropped right to the bottom of the 'healthy' band (email me for my super get-thin-quick diet plan), but lately I've been trying to eat better and the weight has come back.

I hate being skinny - but it seems not enough to change my lifestyle and do something about it. I know what I should do, I know all the theory and practice, I just can't make the leap to do something about it and join a gym.

It's strange being skinny and hating it in a world that says thin is good - it's even more difficult in that I get bombarded by contractictory cultural signals. When I came to buy a new suit a few years ago and decided to splash out on a Paul Smith, I found I could walk into the store and just about everything fit me off the rack. It was a slightly odd experience as I've always found it hard to find trousers the right length - but these guys tailor for the tall slim 'male model' type (and don't get me wrong, I'm by no means saying I'm a male model) - suddenly it was easy to get what I wanted.

On the other hand, when I go out on my little bit of the gay scene, I'm surrounded with guys with about 40 or 50 pounds of beef more than me, and I usually end up feeling like a heroin waif.

I end up attributing my lack of pulling power to my build, when I know that it's more to do with my projected self-image. But, but but but, the bigger boys always look like they are having more fun than me, but, but but but, then I think that even if I did put a bit of beef on, I'd still be the same person inside, but, but, but...

Something's gotta give folks. Either I start being 100% happy with who I am, or I get my ass into gear, scrawny to brawny.

posted at 4:11 PM •

Obituary watch over at blogadoon (who I haven't seen around in absolutely ages - mental note, must drop in on The White Swan sometime).

Luther Vandross: "who never married, is survived by his mother."

Even funnier link here (until someone realises and pulls it down) - "Want to see where Luther Vandross is appearing? Click Tour Schedule for all the Luther Vandross tour dates."

Playground humour, but funny nevertheless.

posted at 2:19 PM •

Shock, horror, outrage, condemnation - the bombers were British.

Except I'm not at all shocked or outraged - I pretty much expected it, and anyone who's seen Monkeydust on BBC3 will know what I'm talking about. Clearly Charles Clarke doesn't watch the show - a weird and very dark series of animated sketches that I've mentioned before.

One of the recurring sketches (which no doubt will now be cut from any future broadcasts) involves a group of British Asian lads from the Midlands in a variety of situations - explaining that they can't do Jihad on Thursday because they don't want to miss the West Bromich home match on Friday, strapping explosives to their bodies before being called down to tea by their mums.

This is the fucking Britain we live in, you numbnuts.

While the chattering classes go out and buy the ribbon/wristband/charity single du jour, disaffected youths are being taught that direct action is to be found in the pages of whatever religious tract you care to wave under their zitty noses, oh, and half a pound of plastic explosives in their Nike backbacks, just pop down to London for the day lads, glory will be yours.

How do you combat that?

posted at 11:59 AM •

It's 8.40am, Thursday 7th June.

I'm running late. Thursday is the day for my cleaner, Julia. I always leave clearing up to the last minute, stacking the dishes, putting the empties next to the bin and getting a load of laundry in the washer so that she can hang it up and get my bedding in. So I usually don't get out of the flat until about 8:45 or 8:50am.

There's a noise downstairs. Julia has arrived early, and I'm late. I quickly finish up, grab my bag and get out of the house, leaving Julia to get on with things. Halfway up the road I suddenly remember that I didn't leave her money. It's 8.51am. I'm too far and too late to turn back now. Julia won't mind, I'll drop the money into her in the evening or tomorrow. I hurry to the station.

I arrive at Leytonstone station and there's an announcement over the tannoy that Liverpool Street and Bank stations are closed. Seems a little strange, but it doesn't affect me - I hurry through the gates, up the stairs just as a train pulls onto platform 1. Plenty of seats. It's 8.56am as I text work to say I might be delayed.

The train heads east, through Leyton and then Stratford. I look for some sign of yesterday's celebrations, and can see two men putting up new Olympic banners next to the inflatable statue that looks a bit like Kelly Holmes from the back. Mile End, Bethnal Green. The driver announces that Liverpool Street and Bank stations are still closed. That's strange - just glad I don't get off at Liverpool Street anymore, I try to work out how I'd get into work if I did. I check the clock on my mobile as we pass through two deserted stations at the regulation speed. It's 9.17am - I should be on time for work.

We stop outside St. Paul's. Something has happened. The noise from the train falls to a hush as we wait. No more than 5 minutes. I can hear the control room through the driver's radio. The driver announces we will be moving into the platform soon, but the train will be terminating. The sound of the engine kicks in and we move, the lights of the platform coming in through the windows. There's a high pitched noise that sounds like a woman shouting. The indicator boards read 'Evacuate'. The train stops and empties. I make my way to the surface past disgruntled looking commuters.

It's 9.47am.

It's 8.30pm, Friday 8th June. I ring Julia's doorbell, holding her money in an envelope ready to post if she doesn't come to the door. I can hear someone running down the stairs inside. It sounds like her - not too heavy, quick. Julia opens the door. She's seen it all before. She's Chechnyen. She left her country to get away from bombs and death, and she can't escape. She tells me she's used to looking over her shoulder.

I don't know what this means, but I know this is wrong. She knows it's wrong, but what can we do? We both have to carry on working, and hope we can find a way to leave the terror behind.

posted at 9:32 PM •

And today we try to return to normal life.

The Central line was one of the least affected lines this morning, so my journey into work was unaffected and uneventful. But it was a lot less busy than usual, and the whole underground felt subdued.

The reaction in London does seem to be defaint and pragmatic. We've known for some time that our city was a significant terrorist target, but of course it's still shocking when it finally happened. The main question now is will the terrorists get the reaction that they wanted?

posted at 11:42 AM •

The BBC news website is reporting that the blast which occurred at Liverpool Street and killed seven people was either a Central or Circle line train. I went through Liverpool Street Station on the Central Line at about 9:10am, so unless it was on the westbound line, I think it must have been on the Circle Line. The full details of what happened probably won't emerge for a day or so.

I left work at 4pm to begin the trek home - boss Dan has been fantastic. Journey wasn't too bad, but eerie seeing so many people walking through central London, and hardly a bus anywhere. Oxford Street - normally packed with buses - hardly had any traffic on it, and most of the shops were closed.

I walked to Liverpool Street station - puzzling at the people trying unsuccessfully to flag down taxis, and cursing every biker that rode past - suddenly I really missed my poor bike.

The overground trains were running by the time I got to Liverpool Street at about 4:45pm, and managed to get a train to Maryland station and walk the last 20 minutes home easily. Stratford station, the scene of so much celebration yesterday, was closed and empty.

I'm home safely anyway - and my thoughts turn to the family and friends of the people who weren't so lucky and won't be coming home tonight.

posted at 6:49 PM •

Oh my God.

There seems to have been several co-ordinated incidents in Central London.

I was on the train just outside St. Paul's station when the underground shut down and the train stopped. I was sitting in the frontmost carriage, where you can hear the controller over the driver's radio. I could hear the driver being informed that there had been a code amber, and we would be pulling into the platform soon.

As soon as we pulled into St. Paul's everyone was evacuated out of the station. It was pretty clear something serious was happening.

I walked into work from St. Paul's to Oxford Circus. I overheard snatches of conversations on mobile phones - "...explosion, must have been waiting to happen...". I passed a friend on the street who told me there were reports of an explosion on the tube that was being reported as a surge in power in the network.

By the time I got into work, it was clear that there had been more than one incident, and even now more reports of explosions are coming in.

I'm pretty scared. I'll try to post updates as and when needed.

Update 13:09
The feeling in central London is one of fear and tension. I can still hear helicopters going overhead, and it doesn't feel like this has finished yet. Details of fatalities are slowly coming through official channels, but the death count seems likely to rise.
Harriet is collating links to various news sources and blogs.

Update 13:26
Just trying to do my bit to keep the flow of information going. Capital fm have set up a message board for people concerned about friends or family in London.

posted at 10:47 AM •

WOW

Wish you were here to see this Mum.

posted at 1:15 PM •

Tomorrow London finds out if it get to host the 2012 Olympics, and it seems that it's going to be a photo finish. I'll leave the commentary and opinion to other more qualified folk, but personally I really hope we get them.

I've joked before about the proximity of my flat to the proposed Olympic village and the likely effect that would have on the property prices in the area - but there are other more emotive points I could make.

I've followed our Olympic bid with interest - I even went to the Olympic bid concert - and at the back of my mind throughout it all has been the knowledge that my Mum would have been behind the bid 110%.

Mum was a total athletics nut. A lot of my memories of growing up with her are based around sports. Summer days watching her screaming at the TV, cheering on her favoured athlete; Sunday evenings after a bath with eggy bread and the theme tune from Ski on Sunday; trying to win her favour by taking up her favourite sport, race walking.

After Dad died in 1982, Mum threw herself into athletics to fill the void in her life. I always knew that athletics came first, but she would always be there for me. I loved her so much for that - for the life she led, for the home she created, for her passion and strength.

I haven't talked about this stuff much lately because it does get to me. I know I've lost the plot in my life and I wish I could be as strong as she was. Well, I've deviated from the point somewhat.

I can imagine how excited Mum would be today - I can imagine how thrilled she'd be if London won - not least because she'd be hoping her son still had his flat on the outskirts of the Olympic village for her to stay in.

For my Mum - I'm backing the bid.

posted at 10:30 AM •

The Skeleton Key

Quality website - various parts done by yours truly.

(Part of the reason why I've not had much time to blog lately - that and because I'm lazy, and because I've been making a conscious effort not to get all introspective and whiny lately, with mixed success. Honestly, the amount of times I've started a whiny rambling post and given up halfway - well, let me tell you, there's lots of them. Maybe I could do a conceptual artwork based around them. Now there's a thought. Oh, um, I'll shut up now - go and look at the website please.)

posted at 1:52 PM •